


I Hate Christmas Parties

by TheBeeThatHums



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Party, Drinking, F/M, Fluff, Mycroft Feels, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-13 18:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17492720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBeeThatHums/pseuds/TheBeeThatHums
Summary: You're tasked with getting Mycroft to attend a Christmas party at 221 Baker Street, a task that proves difficult, and Sherlock has a master plan for the night involving his brother, some mistletoe, andFeelings





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by a Relient K song of the same name.

You groaned, getting out of the cab to look up at the gorgeous house in front of you. How had you been the one designated to deal with this? Oh, right, you’d lost at rock, paper, scissors to John, though you suspected Sherlock gave him some sort of signal to ensure that he would win. You were better suited for this task they insisted… and most of the time you would agree with them.

You were the closest thing Mycroft had to a friend and he did listen to you but this task seemed so monumentally difficult that you doubted you’d have any success. Steeling yourself, you pulled your coat tightly around you and mounted the steps to knock on the door with a false sense of confidence.

You grinned at him when he opened the door and he rolled his eyes, “I’ve already informed Sherlock that I shall not be attending, (F/n).”

Despite his words, he let you in, reaching to take your coat, but you shook your head, keeping it on. It was part of your strategy, he would want to see what you were wearing underneath and you weren’t going to allow him to until you got him back to Baker St.

He narrowed his eyes at you, sussing out what you were playing at, and pursed his lips, “I’m very busy (F/n).”

You smirked, “You’re lying Mycroft. I had Anthea clear your schedule weeks ago.”

He frowned at you, “I have nothing to wear.”

You laughed, taking his hand and pulling him towards his room, “Mycroft Holmes, you are a man who has more suits than he knows what to do with, which makes that the most idiotic statement I have heard from you yet. Besides John is wearing an absolutely ghastly Christmas jumper, I doubt there is any way you could fall lower than that.”

He gave the quietest of groans, “I don’t understand why you insist I go to this party with my brother and his little ‘friends.’ It sounds absolutely dreadful and dull.”

Ignoring him, you pushed him down on his bed and began to flip through his array of finely tailored suits, smiling when you came to one in a forest green tweed fabric and pulling it out to hand it to him, “This one.”

He took it from you with pursed lips, not moving to put it on, and you sighed, he was acting like a spoilt child just like his brother often did, “And if I told you that there is cake?”

He seemed to think about this for a moment but still didn’t move and you added in a last ditch attempt, “And that I made said cake and the frosting myself?”

He sighed and got up to usher you out of his room, “At least go so that I may change with some dignity.”

You waited until he shut the door to give the widest of grins, glad that you hadn’t had to use your entire arsenal to get him into a more appropriate suit, as you would likely need the rest to get him into a car and up to the flat.

He opened the door a moment later with only his shirt and trousers on, frowning at you again, “I’m feeling under the weather (F/n). I think it would be best if you just left me here.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing his arm and tugging him back into the room, “Did you really think that was going to work?”

He shrugged, “It was worth a try.”

You picked up his waistcoat and held it up so he could slip into it before sliding around to button the front, “Christmas is a time that should be spent with family. Aren’t you the one who’s always saying how much you want to know what’s going on with Sherlock? Now’s your chance to bond a little.”

You moved from him to find a tie, picking up one of your favorites, a red one with little black umbrellas printed on its surface, and returned to him. He looked down at you and you knew you weren’t going to like what came out of his mouth next, “By that logic, shouldn’t you be spending the holidays with your family?”

You clenched your jaw, he knew you only had one other family member, a brother who, for reasons unknown to him, you did not have contact with. You focused on tying his tie as you replied, “Your brother’s ragtag bunch of friends is my family, Mycroft. That includes you. Now finish up. I’ll be downstairs.”

You turned and stalked off with Mycroft frowning after you, he shouldn’t have brought that up, he knew it was a sore topic for whatever reason, and he actually felt bad for giving you a hard time. He liked it when you helped him get ready, it felt like he was closer to you than he was, like you were his and he yours. It was something he’d never thought he would want in his life but when you were around he found that it was the only thing he wanted.

He looked over at his reflection, you always knew what would look best for the occasion as well- the mixture of green, red, and white was festive but not in a way that looked as though he was attempting to be festive. He pulled on his coat and shoes after slipping his pocket watch in his waistcoat pocket as he always did, a fact he knew you loved, and then silently descended the stairs to where you were waiting, pausing when he heard you were on the phone.

You sighed heavily, “I’m trying John but it’s like pulling teeth. Imagine Sherlock but with less whining and more attempted manipulation.”

“I’m fine just… promise me you’ll slip extra alcohol into my eggnog when I get there. I could use a little bit more Christmas cheer after this.”

“Thanks, Johnny. See you soon.”

Hanging up, you turned to find him on the staircase, giving him a weak but genuine grin, “Nothing to wear my arse. You look positively dashing My.”

After giving a disapproving eyebrow raise over your language and the nickname, he smirked, “I wish I could say the same of you, my dear, but since you refuse to show me your attire I’m afraid I cannot.”

You gave a smirk of your own, “Part of my job of getting you to this party is to keep you guessing, Mycroft, and I take my work very seriously, as you well know.”

He chuckled and offered you his arm, being less difficult in an attempt to make up for the fact that he’d turned your thoughts troubled with his comment. You took it and let out a sigh of relief as the two of you headed off to his brother’s apartment without any more difficulties.


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft tried to read you, to discern your thoughts, as you stared pensively out the window of the car but came up with nothing. He knew you enjoyed the holidays, his brother often complained over the fact that you always decorated his flat and insisted that he go shopping with you and John, but looking at you now it was like he’d stolen your Christmas spirit.

He pursed his lips before taking a deep breath, “I apologize for what I said earlier. I know you have your reasons for keeping your distance from your brother.”

“If I tell you why do you promise it never leaves this car and that you will not bring it up ever again?” you asked, turning to look at him with a serious face.

He considered this for a moment and then nodded, “You have my word.”

“My brother raised me after our parents died because he had no other choice. He’s an alcoholic who hates me and as such gets rather violent when I am around. I disowned him as soon as I was old enough to leave.”

Mycroft’s mind slowly wrapped around this, going over anything and everything it implied as he let his mind have free reign for the rest of the ride. You looked to him when you got there and rolled your eyes, bloody Holmes’ and their trance-like thinking states.

You got out and then went to pull him out, disturbing his thoughts, “Please don’t make me drag you, Mycroft…. I made sure we have your favorite scotch. All you have to do is climb the stairs and I swear I will pour you a double and make sure Sherlock doesn’t notice when you have two pieces of cake.”

He got out without your help and you gave him a grateful smile as you ushered him up the stairs and into Sherlock’s flat before quickly excusing yourself to go down to your own flat, 221C, so you could finish getting ready and grab the rest of the food.

“You brought up her brother.” Sherlock stated flatly as soon as you left and John shot Mycroft a glare as Mrs. Hudson scolded, “You know better Mycroft.”

“I apologized,” he said before falling silent to wait for you to come back before everyone else started to show up. You bounced back in with a gingerbread cookie hanging out of your mouth, your spirit somewhat restored as you gave a little twirl and handed John the stuffing and plate of cookies you’d brought up.

You had on a white dress with a red and green holly trim and a red bow around your waist with a metallic gold cardigan, your feet bare as usual. Had you and Mycroft been a couple, people would have cooed over how adorable you two looked in your classic yet matching outfits. You gave Mycroft a little grin, “Well Mymy? Worth the wait?”

John laughed as the man pulled a disapproving grimace at what you had called him and you bounced over to ruffle your soldier friend’s hair with a wide grin. He grinned back at you as he batted you away and Sherlock cleared his throat, causing you to both to look at him and then up to where his gaze was, finding a sprig of mistletoe staring down at you.

You let out a mirthful laugh and quickly placed a chaste kiss on John’s lips before patting his cheek, “Merry Christmas John.”

Sherlock smirked at his brother’s entirely unamused expression just as both Molly and Lestrade burst through the door, loudly exclaiming, “Merry Christmas everyone!”

You had disappeared into the kitchen with John and met Lestrade in the doorway to receive the bottle of wine he’d brought, causing Molly to giggle, “Mistletoe, Greg!”

He looked up and then shrugged, leaning to place a quick, innocent kiss on your lips as you giggled, “It would seem someone has found the opportune spot for that to keep my lips busy all night.”

Sherlock was quite happy with the fact that his brother’s grip on the arm of his chair had just gone incredibly tight, loosening only when you came to give him a glass of scotch. You pressed it into his hand with a happy glint in your eyes, “I promised and I always keep my promises.”

He gave you a small smile, glad to have your attention, “Thank you, my dear. I know I did not say it before but you look positively radiant.”

A dark blush colored your cheeks as you sank down to sit on the arm of his chair, “Thank you Mycroft.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He gets occ and I am sorry. Chalk it up to the fact that you pretty much pour scotch down his throat the whole night.

Sherlock spent the rest of the party waiting for the perfect moment to enact his plan, letting the hours tick by and the food and drink be consumed until everyone was just sitting around, happily chatting.

His brother had had three glasses of scotch, all poured by you meaning they were very generous, and as promised John had slipped quite a bit of extra alcohol into your eggnog. Outwardly, Mycroft looked the same as always but Sherlock knew he was really quite loosened up and you were swaying tipsily on your perch of the arm of Mycroft’s chair, giggling and talking more openly than you normally would. Perfect for his plan.

John moved with the intent to get tea only to slide back into his seat as he was far more drunk than even you and you laughed, “I’ve got you, John. One cup of tea, coming right up. Anyone else want anything?”

Everyone shook their heads and you slipped from your place and into the kitchen, putting the kettle to boil and then coming to the doorway to listen while you waited. Seeing his opportunity, Sherlock met you in the doorway with a little smirk as Mrs. Hudson giggled, “The mistletoe, Sherlock. The two of you have to kiss now.”

You giggled, thinking that Sherlock was going to be adorably awkward as he usually was with these things, but he wasn’t… not at all. He wrapped his arms around your waist and dramatically dipped you before pressing a very insistent kiss to your lips, leaving you no other option but to respond. Mycroft was up in a flash, grabbing your hand to tug you away from his brother and into the kitchen before Sherlock could push the kiss to get more heated. Sherlock grinned as he went to sit back down, having gotten the exact reaction that he wanted- he was tired of both of you sulking and dancing around each other as it was terribly tedious and more than a little distracting.

“What is it, Mycroft?” you asked, looking up at him worriedly.

“Do you fancy my brother?” he demanded.

You gaped at him, did he really not know that it was him you fancied, “N-no Mycroft. I don’t nor does he fancy me. You know he likes to mess with people.”

He didn’t let your wrist go, just staring at you for a moment, and you tilted your head at him, “Perhaps I gave you a bit too much scotch, My.”

He snapped out of it, reaching out to take your other hand so that he could hold them both in front of him, “Don’t ever let him kiss you again.”

You raised an eyebrow, “And why not Mycroft? I’ll kiss whomever I like and Sherl-“

He cut you off by pressing his lips to yours in a gentle yet powerful kiss, to which you eagerly responded before he pulled away to cup your cheek in one hand. You blinked up at him curiously and his thumb traced across your lips, “Because I fancy you.”

He gave you a small, shy smile, a dusting of pink settling across his cheeks as the scotch allowed him to be less stiff and formal with you than he normally would be, “Would you accompany me to dinner and perhaps the theater?”

You grinned, “Mycroft Holmes are you asking me on a date?”

He nodded seriously, “I am.”

You put your hands on his shoulders as you tiptoed to press your lips to his in a kiss entirely different than the one he’d given you, it was soft but desperate, conveying all the emotions you’d been keeping locked away in your heart. He let one hand fall to the small of your back and the other tangle in your hair as he quickly responded, enjoying how you tasted- like gingerbread and vanilla.

You mumbled into his lips, “I think we can skip all that tedious dating stuff… wouldn’t you agree?”

He chuckled pulling away to rest his forehead on yours, “As tempting as that may be, I would like to do this properly.”

You giggled, rolling your eyes, “Alright then, Mr. Proper.”

You moved away from him and he caught your wrist, seeing the small smirk on your face, “Where are you going?”

You turned to feign innocence, “To finish my kiss with Sherlock of course.”

He growled, pulling you to him possessively, “No, you most certainly are not.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “I thought you wanted to do the dating thing? You do realize that I can kiss whomever I please until you ask me to be only yours?”

He floundered and you pulled away, adding over your shoulder, “I would say it takes around four or five dates before doing so becomes ‘proper’ Mycroft. So if you’ll excuse me.”

He stopped you again, “You are so terribly manipulative you know.”

You turned to grin at him, “It’s part of why you like me, My, and I know you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He brought your hand up to kiss your knuckles, “Sod proper. I don’t want you kissing anyone but me. I want you to be the one on my arm at all those tedious work parties. I want you to have eyes for only for me just as I only have eyes for you. Will you be mine (F/n)?”  

You gave him a soft smile, “Of course I will Mycroft, on the condition that while I am yours, you are also mine.”  

He grinned, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You intertwined your fingers with his, “Good. Now come with me to kick your little brother’s arse for hanging that mistletoe there before thanking him for the same reason.”

Mycroft chuckled and let you tug him out to the other room where everyone was still happily conversing, utterly content to just have his hand in yours. Something told him that his Christmases were going to be far more enjoyable from now on.


End file.
